


Experimental

by EustaceScrubb



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: First Time, Incest, M/M, Twincest, a criminal lack of sex ed, awkward teenage fumbling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24727096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EustaceScrubb/pseuds/EustaceScrubb
Summary: They're the only two teenagers on a giant empty compound. Hormones going crazy. Something was bound to happen eventually.It probably would be best not to make a habit out of it.
Relationships: Dean Venture/Hank Venture
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

They had been camping for a little over a week now. The Amazon jungle was too dense to have any place to land the X1, so in order to get to the temple they had to hike. Dad had promised a untapped font of native gold, but Brock said he’d bet his money on an empty pile of rocks. Dean had been getting dive-bombed by mosquitos since they left the plane, and mostly just wanted to go home. It was nice to leave the compound occasionally, but if it meant getting tangled in barbed vines three times a day he would rather just skip it.

Hank seemed to be enjoying himself at first, but the thrill of adventure had rapidly lost its charm for him as well.

“Just a couple miles more tomorrow and we’ll be on the doorstep!” Dad said at dinner, although he seemed just as discouraged as the rest of them. Dinner at that point was a few scraps of rations and a snake that Brock had killed earlier that day.

Hank groaned pointedly.

“Don’t whine. If there’s half as much stuff as this map says there is, I won’t have to look for funding for years. Don’t you want your daddy to live a little easier for a while?”

Hank groaned again, which made Dad send him to bed without finishing his snake meat, which Dean regarded as more of a reward than a punishment. He sometimes wished he was a little more rebellious like his brother, but it was easier to just bow his head and play along. Life was hard enough, no need to make it harder.

When Dean came back to their tent (they always had to share a tent, even though Dad and Brock got their own), Hank was already wrapped up in a thin blanket, laying with his back facing the rest of the tent. Dean got ready for bed quietly, even though he knew that Hank wasn’t asleep. It was hard to sleep in the jungle: the animals never seemed to shut up, the bugs tried their damnedest to get through the netting, and the air itself was sticky and hot. Plus, it turned as dark as midnight at like seven in the evening.

Dean found himself staring at the top of their tent for hours more, as his brother’s breath slowed and turned to snoring. His body ached and itched in the worst places, and it seemed like every single mosquito on the continent was outside their tent, buzzing for blood. Eventually, just the sheer exhaustion of the day was enough to put him to sleep.

His dream was nice, a giant woman who looked vaguely like someone he knew wrapped her hand around him and squeezed, and it felt so nice but so stifling and–

He awoke moments later, somehow hotter and sweatier and definitely more aroused than he had been before. It took him a second to find the cause of the discomfort; Hank had rolled over in his sleep and draped his arm and leg over Dean’s body. Even though they slept in separate beds at home, Dean was used to his brother’s nighttime movements. On various adventures they had to share a bed, a single bunk, a cot, a blanket, and (notably) a hammock. He had just learned to shove Hank off whenever his limbs got too akimbo.

Dean shifted himself a little to get a better angle on the shove, but as he did so Hank sleepily nuzzled himself further into his side. It was then that Dean became aware of the hard shape pressing into his hip.

Their father had made vague promises to give them “the talk” at some point, but that had never materialized. The grandpa recordings on the learning bed had been only slightly more useful; Dean had the vague idea that bananas and balloons were somehow involved when you got intimate with a woman. Besides that, he was in the dark. He discovered masturbation by himself a couple years ago, and he assumed that Hank probably learned that skill too, based on the sounds he sometimes heard from the neighboring learning bed. But it wasn’t like they ever… talked about it.

The darkness of the night and the remaining miasma of sleep made the situation more surreal, and Dean found himself reaching over towards his brother’s body without really thinking about it. His fingers traced the length straining against his brother’s thin pajamas, and Hank unconsciously strained his body forward in response.

Dean was about to explore further when he felt Hank’s eyelashes flutter at his neck. He snatched away his hand.

“Mmmnn,” Hank groaned sleepily, “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing!” Dean could feel the panic in his own voice, and knew Hank could hear it too.

“What?” Hank’s voice was gaining alertness as he woke up.

“You rolled on top of me so I was just pushing you off, that’s all,” he lied.

“Oh. Because I thought…” Hank trailed off. “Sorry.”

Hank shifted himself to the other side of the cramped tent. They both laid there for a minute, completely awake and unmoving, before Dean found himself breaking the silence. It was the late hours of the night where nothing felt real and there were no consequences.

“Do you, um, y’know touch your… down there?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I was thinking that–” Dean had the sentences arranged in his head, but it all came out in a rush of words, “–y’know, it feels nice when it’s not you doing it? When it’s someone else? Or something? So like, if we wanted to, we could like, do it for each other? And that might be nice?”

The following silence put Dean into a rapid shame spiral.

Hank, after a miniature eternity, decided to speak. “You mean like… tradesies? I do it for you and you do it for me?”

“Yeah,” Dean felt the relief wash over him, “Like that.”

“Sure, why not.” Hank rolled back to face Dean, although it was so dark in the tent that they could barely see each other.

Dean reached over again, and gave the shape underneath the pajamas a tentative squeeze. Hank let out a very soft grunt, which made Dean fumble with the waistband even more than he already was.

He couldn’t really see it, but it felt the similar enough to his own dick. He gave it a couple of long, slow pulls like he did to himself, which seemed to be the right thing to do. When he reached the head again it was wet, and he used that to slick down the shaft again. Hank nestled closer to his shoulder and breathed more heavily. Dean felt extremely constrained, all of a sudden.

“You have to do me too,” he said, a little breathlessly.

“Okay, okay, lemme just– my arms’s like, underneath–“ Hank readjusted himself on the narrow camping pad, ending up sitting over Dean with a knee between his legs. “I think I got it.”

Hank tugged down Dean’s pants and began roughly pumping. Dean let out an embarrassing little gasp, this was _way_ faster than he was used to, but he would sooner bleed than ask to stop. He was correct earlier: it felt so much better to have someone else do it.

It was fine for a minute, but he sorely missed the body contact from earlier. All he felt now was the hand on his dick and the body weight on his thigh. He wanted… he _needed_ the skin-to-skin contact.

“Come closer,” he said in a low voice.

“Huh?”

“Come–“ He used his free hand to yank the front of Hank’s pajamas. “–closer. Please.”

Hank leaned in a little more, free arm next to Dean’s head, holding his weight. But it wasn’t enough: Dean wrapped his arm around his brother’s neck and pulled them together, pressing their chests and hips against each other, and burying his face in Hank’s neck. The weight and the heat of his body was comforting, like a security blanket, even in the sweltering jungle climate. And the pressure and friction between their lower halves was incredible.

The knuckles of their working hands scraped against each other in the dark, so Dean decided to take both of them together, tangling his fingers with Hank’s and pumping even harder. Hank moaned in his ear and pressed closer, and that was enough to send Dean over the edge. He gasped and squeezed Hank even closer, utterly spent but determined to finish this right. His own warm slickness dripped onto his stomach, and it only took Hank a few more shaky thrusts before he too came and collapsed on top of his brother.

They stayed like that for several minutes, comfortable and uncomfortable, until Hank pushed himself off and rolled back to the other side. Neither of them said anything. Dean’s chest and stomach were sticky with sweat and other residue; he wiped up as best he could with his pajama shirt and threw it in the corner of the tent. It was too hot for shirts anyway.

For some reason, Dean wanted to reach over and take his brother’s hand, like they did when they were younger. When had they stopped holding hands? But the gap, mere inches of separation, was far too wide a chasm to traverse. That would make it… something else, something more than it was. Right now, it was just a trade, purely scientific experimentation, totally innocuous. That was what Dean repeated to himself, like a mantra, before he fell back asleep.

It took several more days to get to the temple, which was (somewhat predictably) filled with more bat guano and spike traps than any actual gold. Hank seemed a little less conversational than usual, but that might have just been because of the ever-present mosquitos and exhaustion. Dean certainly didn’t feel like talking much.

There was a delicate sort of awkwardness in the tent in the nights after, although it could have only been Dean’s imagination. Hank didn’t seem openly bothered, but things rarely seemed to bother him. Were the careful inches of no man’s land between their blankets intentional or just accident? What would happen if he were to just reach over..?

Dean didn’t sleep soundly until they were back at the compound, where the locking lids of the learning beds left no ambiguity at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ship tag is criminally empty for how canon this ship is. 
> 
> I've got two or three more little chapters, updating soon! Twincest forever!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get reciprocal. Maybe. 
> 
> Good thing the Venture compound is so big.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to finish this when the new season started, for inspiration, but I guess that isn't happening. I hope you enjoy this little fic anyway, despite the news.

Hank often woke up before the learning beds unlocked in the morning. His circadian rhythm (one of the few concepts that got through to him before he started using earplugs in bed) never meshed with the cycles of the lessons. He found that it was better to just ignore them and get a good night’s sleep, otherwise he’d just be uneducated _and_ unrested. _Dean’s lucky that he’s so good at it._ Hank didn’t really want to be a nerd like his brother, but it was hard not to resent the positive attention at least a little bit.

Teenagehood had brought a lot of changes, both welcome and not. One of most mixed was the almost-inescapable morning hard-on. In a way, Hank was grateful for the morning hours. He usually had time to satisfy himself, go back to sleep, and feel rested and fulfilled for the rest of the day. It was better than fighting for a solitary ten minutes in the communal bathroom, which was the only other option when you shared a room with your brother. A teen had to let off steam somehow.

He usually thought about buxom gymnasts, or the women from that one nudist tribe, or the Quymn twins. Recently though, a lot of his thoughts had turned to Dean. He felt a little guilty about it at first, but well… it was natural that he felt that way! It was the first time he’d ever done _anything_ with another person. The fact that it was his brother wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t like it could be helped.

Hank flipped over onto his stomach and pulled down the waistband of his pajamas. A hand was okay, but he had recently figured out the trick of folding up a couple pillows in the right positions and really going to town. He rocked against the soft mounds slowly at first, until he got into rhythm. With his face buried into the sheets like this, it was almost like before, in the tent. He imagined Dean’s skinny torso underneath him, legs entangled, doing that weird breathy whine into his ear. It was incredible, tantalizing, and just out of reach.

They hadn’t done anything like that again, hadn’t even talked about it. Hank screwed up his eyes and focused on the fantasy. It took only a couple more minutes of rutting into and he came, quietly, into the pillows.

“Rise and shine boys!” The lids of the learning beds whirred open, letting in a gust of air and sunlight. Hank heard Dean groan from the other bed as he hurried to cover himself and the evidence of his misdeed.

“Hurry and get dressed,” their dad said, in his usual clipped tones, “I need you boys to check around the old experimental marsupial lounge. There’s something draining a crap-ton of our electricity. The bill’s even more outrageous than usual.”

“Can’t you do it?” Hank whined, pulling up the blankets to his chin.

“No. It’s dusty in there.”

“Can’t we have breakfast first?” Dean asked, equally disgruntled.

“Grab a handful of cereal. Whatever that thing is, it’s costing me ninety cents a minute.”

The experimental marsupial lounge was one of the many areas on the Venture property that had been abandoned for the last couple decades. It took a dusty commemorative map for the brothers to even find out where it was. It had been fun exploring the old buildings when they were younger, but after the first couple encounters mutant animals and skin-melting chemical vats it somewhat lost its charm.

Armed with a single flashlight and a ring of miscellaneous keys, they entered the structure. The entry hall was predictably decrepit and adorned with vintage science paraphernalia, like most of the other laboratories in the compound. A couple of grim-looking dissection diagrams were still tacked up to the walls.

“I don’t think we have to worry about rabid kangaroos or anything,” Dean said, “Dad said he sold them off to zoos a while ago.”

“I think I could take a kangaroo,” Hank said.

“I dunno, Australian red kangaroos have a kick of up to eight hundred and fifty PSI.”

“Okay nerd. I’d do it like a shark, one jab to the nose and they’re down.”

“Let’s just search the rooms. I hate spending time in here.”

They trudged along, trying a couple doors and finding nothing more interesting than a couple old filing cabinets. Hank drew his name in the dust on one of the desks, but was otherwise bored out of his mind. His thoughts wandered back to the fantasy from the morning. It was awkward reconciling the image in his head with the actual person in front of him. In the darkness of the tent, or his bed, there was ambiguity and possibility. In the stark light of day, it seemed unlikely to have ever happened in the first place.

But Hank felt unbelievably pent-up. Yes, he could relieve himself well enough, but he wanted to touch and be touched, to be wanted by someone. It was so lonely, so isolating, to be stuck in the middle of nowhere with only your family for company. He rarely even got hugged, let alone anything more intimate.

“Y’know, I was thinking…” he started to say, as they poked around another empty room, “… about girls, and stuff.”

“Yeah?”

“And like, I would like to get a girlfriend one day. I’m guessing you do too.”

“Uh huh?” Dean said, clearly only half-listening.

“But it would suck to like, go and meet a girl but look like a total doofus because you haven’t even kissed anyone before.”

“Mm?”

“So I thought that maybe, y’know, we should practice. So we don’t look totally lame.”

Dean was paying attention now.

“Practice… kissing?” he said incredulously, “Like with each other?”

“Yeah, like, for practice,” Hank said again, as if repeating the word would make it more true. Even he could recognize that it wasn’t the most persuasive argument.

Dean looked at him for a long moment, brow wrinkled. He bit his lip, and nodded. “Okay.”

A little too eagerly, Hank came forward and grabbed Dean by the shoulders, mashing their faces together. It wasn’t a very good kiss, far too clumsy, but Hank didn’t really mind. _So_ this _is what kissing is._

The flashlight that Dean was holding clanked to the floor. They both jumped.

“Too fast,” Dean said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Go a little slower.”

“Okay, but like… open your mouth this time.”

Hank tried again, this time doing like actors did in movies: tilted to the right and open-mouthed. It was sloppy, wet, and warm; all of which he expected but still caught him by surprise. They moved and readjusted, clumsily getting the hang of it. After a minute or so, Hank remembered that French kissing meant tongues were involved somehow, and that added a whole different layer of complication to the act.

He pressed into Dean, who took several steps back until his back hit the wall. Dean wrapped his arms around Hank’s neck and pulled them closer together. Hank touched his brother’s waist gingerly at first, but quickly gave up and dug his fingers in. It was so nice to touch a real person, after so long.

Dean made a small noise in the back of his throat, and angled his hips a little closer. It was all happening a little too fast. They had barely started normal kissing but Hank already wanted to rut into Dean again like they had done in the tent. He started moving his hips in and out, subtly at first, but rapidly losing the pretense. Dean hooked one of his legs over Hank’s hips, opening his stance further so that they could get even closer.

Neither of them made much noise; too many years of sharing a room made them quiet during the act, and the abandoned laboratory was still creepy. But the soft little breaths and gasps seemed unbearably loud in the space. In a moment between clumsy kisses, Dean broke away.

“Hank,” he whispered, digging his face into his brother’s shoulder. He tensed for a moment, and then drooped with moan, muffled by Hank’s shirt. It took another half minute or so of friction against his brother’s body for Hank to come too. He stayed there for a moment afterwards, flush against Dean, just feeling his chest move up and down. He separated with reluctance, but his arms were beginning to cramp up and the wet spot in his pants was getting uncomfortable.

They didn’t make eye contact as they readjusted their clothing and calmed down their breath. Dean picked up the flashlight from where it dropped on the floor.

“Maybe we should split up,” he said, “To cover the rest of the building, I mean.”

“Yeah… okay. Good idea.”

Hank sometimes had a hard time reading his brother. He spent a lot of their adventures whining and crying, but he was often more eager than Hank to depart on them. Did he actually enjoy the super-science stuff, or was it just to please their dad? Was he doing… _this_ stuff just to please Hank?

He didn’t like to think about these kind of topics very much. Dean was Dean. He was still his brother, regardless of anything else.

He found the energy-sapper in the third room he looked in. It was a loudly-whirring gold and purple device, conspicuously decorated with a massive butterfly. It was connected to the wall socket with a strangely nondescript extension cord. He yanked it out of the wall.

He tapped his communicator watch. “Dad? It’s just some Monarch thing. I unplugged it so I think it’s fine now.”

His dad’s voice crackled over the tiny speaker. “Ugh, great. Any usable parts?”

“Dunno.” Hank idly kicked it with his foot. “It’s kinda shiny looking.”

“Just leave it there and tell your brother to come back. I’ll get Brock to carry it in.”

“‘kay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 will be a different fic, since it's a flash-forward and not necessarily related to these parts. [You can read it here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26385577) Beware: angst.
> 
> Twincest forever! 😔 Even if the show is cancelled.


End file.
